


Hum

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 00:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5396333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The speaker is no one Tsukishima wants to see -- at the moment even Yamaguchi’s quiet company would be unwelcome -- and when he opens his eyes it just gets worse." Tsukishima tries to have a moment of peace and Kuroo interrupts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kamyams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamyams/gifts).



Tsukishima isn’t looking for a conversation. With the rest of the team working through their second servings of lunch (or third, in the case of Tanaka and Nishinoya) what he’s hoping for is a few moments of peace, the quiet of solitude for five or ten minutes away from the constant presence of the other attendees of the training camp. There’s been no peace for days, not during practice or meals or even in the bath; the best Tsukishima has been able to manage is the retreat of his headphones, and even then there’s at best even odds against someone pulling them off to get his attention for something worth far less than a few minutes of quiet. He doesn’t have his headphones with him now -- there’s no point, when he knows he’s obligated to pay attention to the practice matches and will have at most fifteen minutes of time to himself all day, if he’s lucky -- but he’s still hoping for the space to breathe, for the time to lean against the shadowy cool of the outside wall of the gym and let his thoughts settle and even out in the quiet of solitude.

“Hey, Glasses.”

Tsukishima can feel his mouth tense into a frown, irritation settling into his expression even before he’s opened his eyes. The speaker is no one he wants to see -- at the moment even Yamaguchi’s quiet company would be unwelcome -- and when he opens his eyes it just gets worse. It’s the Nekoma player, the frustrating one from yesterday; Tsukishima can feel his frown settle deeper, impatience sparking the effort of true anger behind his eyes as he blinks into focus on the lopsided smirk on the other’s face.

“You,” he says, without even bothering with a mockery of politeness. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t passed out somewhere,” the other boy -- Kuroo, Tsukishima’s memory offers -- grins. It’s a joke, if a bad one. Tsukishima doesn’t smile. “Everyone else is still eating, there’s plenty more food.”

“I’m not hungry,” Tsukishima informs him with a raw drag on the words from repeating them too often over the last few days. “We still have games this afternoon, there’s no point in stuffing myself until I can’t play well.”

Kuroo shrugs, a sharp upward tilt of one shoulder. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t let his smirk so much as flicker. “I guess you don’t need to worry about growing anymore,” he observes. “As long as the little one doesn’t have a growth spurt you’ll at least be the tallest on the team.”

“Yeah,” Tsukishima drawls into sarcasm. “I’m really concerned about that possibility.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo says, and that’s it, the conversation is clearly concluded, but he doesn’t leave, even when Tsukishima tips his head back against the wall and shuts his eyes in an unsubtle hint. There’s a pause instead, the peace of the silence stretched taut and anxious with oncoming speech, and then: “Are you coming to practice with us again tonight?”

“No,” Tsukishima says without opening his eyes. “Why do you care whether I come to practice or not? Can’t you just rope that tall guy from your own team to help you practice blocks?”

“Lev has got other issues,” Kuroo says, with enough of a laugh in his voice that Tsukishima tilts his chin down and opens his eyes again. Kuroo’s eyes are dark, nearly black in the shadow the gym casts in the summer sun. “Besides, it’s not about just having a warm body to stand in front of Bokuto.”

“I’m your opponent,” Tsukishima reminds Kuroo, his voice dipping into the taunting condescension that comes so easily he doesn’t need to think about it. “You shouldn’t be encouraging me to improve my skills.”

“There’s no fun in defeating a rival who’s no good,” Kuroo tells him. He’s grinning, now, his lips tugging into the shape of the laugh clearly audible in his throat. “It hardly counts at all.”

“That’s fine,” Tsukishima says, the words drawn taut around something part anger and mostly hurt. He looks away from the edge of Kuroo’s smile, tilts his head back against the wall and stares up so the bright of the sky overhead can ache against the back of his eyes. “I’m sure the rest of the team is determined to put in the effort to beat you.”

“And you’re not?” Kuroo asks. Tsukishima can’t see his face, but his voice is a little softer, easing away from the amusement dripping off each syllable. “Don’t you want to keep up?”

“There’s no point,” Tsukishima says, and shuts his eyes to the ache of the sunlight, to the oppressive heat of the day. Even behind his eyelids everything is red, glowing faintly with the bright of the illumination overhead. “I can’t keep up even if I try. What’s the use in an effort doomed before it starts?”

There’s a pause. For a moment Tsukishima hopes that Kuroo will just leave, that the edge of his own rudeness will be enough to push the other away and back and leave him to the peace of his own thoughts once again. But there’s no sound of footsteps, no indication of movement, and then there’s a shift of air, something coming too close for Tsukishima to ignore, and he flinches back and opens his eyes just as Kuroo’s mouth lands on his.

Tsukishima’s focus evaporates. Thoughts of practice, of talent, of effort and failure and victory all dissolve from his mind. There’s just a ringing in his ears, shock sharp and overwhelming his attention; Kuroo’s hand brushes his shoulder, slides up against the back of his neck, and when Kuroo pulls Tsukishima capitulates to the force, his spine curving in and down towards the other with no conscious thought at all. He hasn’t shut his eyes yet, hasn’t even blinked, but his mouth is soft with shock and Kuroo is  _kissing_  him, harder now, humming something faint and far-off in his throat. Tsukishima’s heart is going faster, thrumming against the inside of his ribcage like hummingbird wings, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing and he can’t think clearly enough to judge his own actions but he’s lifting a hand anyway, raising his fingers through the summer-sultry air towards the tangle of Kuroo’s hair. It’s like swimming through a haze, like moving in slow motion, until by the time Tsukishima’s fingers brush the sweat-heat of Kuroo’s neck he feels like it’s been five minutes, ten, a half hour that he’s been standing here frozen to near-stillness by the friction of Kuroo’s mouth on his. His hand settles, his eyelashes flutter shut -- and Kuroo makes a sound against his lips, a purr of unmistakable satisfaction, and pulls back and away.

“It’s not just about the blocker,” he says. When Tsukishima opens his eyes again Kuroo is staring at him, his eyes wide and dark as they swallow all the bright of the midday sunshine into night-black shadows. “You should come to practice with us tonight.”

Tsukishima doesn’t answer. He’s still fighting for coherency, struggling for rational thought, and the hum of the cicadas is so loud it’s drowning out his attention, jarring his focus out-of-sync and sideways. Kuroo’s mouth twists into a smirk, his eyes sparkling with self-made light; and then he steps back, away from Tsukishima’s startled-gentle hold, and draws his hand away from the other’s neck with a slow slide of contact that doesn’t even make an attempt at being accidental.

“Hope to see you later,” Kuroo says, and then he’s gone, moving away with a speed that nonetheless grants him enough time that his fingers can drag along the edge of Tsukishima’s t-shirt, can catch the fabric into a tug of suggestion in the moment before he’s out of reach and then around the corner and out of sight. Tsukishima turns, stares at the empty space Kuroo so recently left, and doesn’t move.

It takes a long time before the hum in his head fades back into coherency.


End file.
